


Penny a Piece

by TheOnlyHuman



Series: Dark Claws: What-ifs [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Family Feels, Female Dick Grayson, Hispanic Jason Todd, Jason needs a hug, What Ifs, Young Jason Todd, as in he's out on the streets, stealing of the batmobile's tyres, street rat Jason, talon dick grayson, those poor tyres
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 15:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19467217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOnlyHuman/pseuds/TheOnlyHuman
Summary: What if, Rachel (female Dick) wasn't in CADMUS when B found Jason Todd? What if, she got to witness first hand, the scruffy street kid trying to steal the Batmobile's tyres?Well, things would be different wouldn't they?A softer universe for my Deep Claws au. Because I felt like it.





	1. Those Tyres Yours, Kid?

**Author's Note:**

> Unsure if this is going to expand from a oneshot but I'll leave it open just incase I write more.

Rachel jumped down into the alleyway Bats had parked the Batmobile and paused at the sight.

It was a young boy, no older than twelve possibly, crouched down at one of the Batmobile's tyres, unscrewing the lugnuts with a lug wrench. The other three tires were stacked neatly beside him.

Rachel chuckled, soft and hollow, and horrifying for the untamed ears. Sure enough, the boy jumped and scrambled up to his feet, whirling around to glare at her frostily, holding up the lugwrench for defense.

"And what would you be doing, boy?" She asked, watching as his eyes darted around, calculating whether or not she would be able to catch him if he ran. They both knew she'd be able to catch him before he even moved a muscle, she could if she wanted to. Everyone knew Nightwing wasn't as forgiving as the Bat.

"What the hell are ya doing here?" The child growled back, the sharp tang of the Dead End accent molding his words. "Aren't ya an' the Bat meant to be dealin' with Ivy down three blocks?"

"Ivy has been dealt with," She hummed. The vibrating sound echoed along the small alleyway and the boy shifted. He was nervous, the knowledge brought a fickle smile to her face.

"What? You aren't gonna arrest me or something?" He asked, grip loosening on the wrench before he tightened it automatically.

_Smart boy._

"Unnecessary." She said, bring a clawed hand up to her ear and tapping her comm. The boy flinched as the copper infused adamantium glinted menacingly in the little light and gleamed dangerously. Fear leaked through a crack in his façade before he pulled it closer in, ready for a fight.

**_//Seems we're going to have a little problem getting home, B.\\\_ **

**_//What do you mean, Nightwing?\\\_** Bruce asked immediately with the sound of Ivy complaining in the background, obviously tied up from her whining. **_//What happened?\\\_**

**_//A brat found the 'mobile and decided he'd take its tyres off to get a few bux.\\\_** She responded, watching happily as the boy glared at her wording and threw the lugwrench down in complaint.

_**//I** _**_assume you kept him at the scene?\\\_** He asked as air whooshed in his comm. B was probably taking the quicker route of rooftop jumping to get here.

**_//Do you take me for a fool, Bats?\\\_** She asked, eyeing the boy as he jerked and kicked the tyres. She rolled her eyes and added, **_//Yes, the boy is here. You can chat away with him all you like later.\\\_**

**_//I'll be there in a few minutes, copy?\\\_ **

**_//Copy.\\\_ **

Rachel strutted over to the tyre stack and tapped it with the steel toe of her boot. The boy looked up at her curiously as she hummed. "How'd you get these off?"

"By myself," The boy frowned, snark coming out stronger as he began looking a tad cornered. "Do you see anyone else here?"

Rachel shrugged offhandedly as she pushed the first tyre off the pile and wheeled it onto the side of the car. "Never know. You could be one of those team player guys, 'taking one for the team' as they say."

The boy snorted, "Not much of a team player."

"Neither am I." She murmured, eyeing the gap between the ground and the Batmobile. The child had leveraged it with a strong looking piece of metal. _Smart._ "Much more of a soloist."

The boy tilted his head in the corner of her vision. She wasn't worried about him running anymore, not with B coming and her reflexes were ten times, if not more, of that of a normal humans. She was quicker than most living things. She could catch a young boy if she needed to.

"Thought you were the Bats partner?" He asked. He was quick too.

Rachel turned her head to watch him. "That I am."

The boy narrowed his eyes, "But why are you his partner if you prefer to work solo?"

Rachel rolled her neck and cracked it. "I have a tendancy to try and kill the baddies, he doesn't like that too much so we're partners."

"So he's watching you, like an owner watches his dog?" The boy laughed and Rachel abruptly snapped her head around to glare at him. He went silent very quickly.

A moments silence passed and Rachel blew out a breath of air. The cold winters air turned it white and suddenly Rachel realised how the boy was shivering. She sighed and tapped the door of the Batmobile which opened flawlessly. She reached in and pulled out a blanket.

She threw it at the gaping boy's head. He clutched at it and numbly held onto it as he watched the 'mobiles door close by itself. "H-How did you do that?"

Rachel smirked at him. "The door? Reponds to my DNA." She motioned to the blanket. "Wrap it around yourself before you get hypothermia and die."

"I'm tougher than I look," He shot back but complied and wrapped the light blue blanket around himself anyway, snuggling into the warmth. "Where is the Bat anyway?"

Rachel jumped up onto the low roof of the Batmobile and shrugged. "He's coming. What's your name, brat?"

He glowered at her, stiffening almost defensively. "And why would _you_ want to know _that?_ "

Rachel hummed idly, turning her head to look out onto the lightly frosted road. Judging from the clouds it would begin snowing soon. She had never really been much of a fan of snow. "That's alright." The boy relaxed slightly. "Unless you want me to call you brat constantly."

"Jason," he growled. "Jason Todd."

Rachel nodded, "Nightwing. 'S a pleasure, Jason."

Jason laughed bitterly. "Yeah, 'cuz that's such a surprise."

Rachel spared him a curious glance as he turned around, glaring out at the frosted road as he clutched his stomach. On cue it grumbled loudly and Jason went red cheeked.

She tapped her comm. _ **//What's keeping you?\\\**_

_**//Deepest apologies, my lady.\\\**_ Bruce grumbled sarcastically, sounding a tad out of breath. _**//I happened to look in through a window and found Penguin and Two Face chatting about weapons in an abandoned warehouse. I couldn't resist. What's your situation?\\\**_

She couldn't help but notice how Jason had stiffened at her talking through her comm. **_//It's fine. I'll deal with this, you think you can manage putting three out of four tyres back on yourself?\\\_**

**_//What?\\\_ **Bruce asked, sounding a tad annoyed. Rachel didn't hear the rest as she shut off her comm. She nodded at Jason.

"Give me five minutes," She hummed, slipping off the roof as she opened the door again and grabbed her personal bag out of the back seat. She spied a dumpster at the end of the dead end alleyway. "You try to run and I'll hunt you down. I suggest you stay here."

Jason snorted, shoving his hands into his ratty pockets, but not before pulling the blanket closer as he leant against the side of the Batmobile. "Like I have anywhere else to be."

Rachel refused to acknowledge the pain that those words brought her.

Five minutes later on the dot she walked out from behind the dumpster dressed in a ratty hoodie, black warm jeans and a pair of red mids. The hood was up, obviously.

Jason gaped at her as she shoved her hands in her pockets and motioned for him to follow.

**  
**

**  
**

They ended up at a retro 50's diner, crappy and cheap but Jason knew from rumours travelling around that the food was good. Why the normally dressed Nightwing had taken them there, Jason didn't want to know.

Still, he asked.

"And we're here why?" He snarked, internally screaming at the woman whenever she just shrugged him off and strode over to a booth.

Sadly, he trailed behind her and sat down on the seat opposite her as she picked up a menu and covered the lower part of her face with it, the only thing visible of her was her bright yellow eyes.

They unnerved him, as he suddenly realised what colour they were. Yellow eyes weren't natural and his heart seized at the thought.

The yellow irises roamed over him, flickering so quickly Jason got the feeling she wasn't really _looking at_ him, more like, looking _through_ him. It made him tense and jumpy. Thankfully she blinked and pushed back the menu a tad, pulling her eyes down to read. And although they were still yellow it was less stressful with them away from him.

"Well?" He asked and swallowed as those eyes flicked up once more before returning to the menu.

"Choose something," She murmured, low and almost raspy. Jason wondered if Nightwing was really like this in real everyday life (and well, she had said she killed people so that either made her a murderer —unlikely, those eyes were too promienent— or an assassin. It made him wonder how she'd fallen in with Batman and made him ponder just who the Bat was under that mask. She shot the menu just by his left hand a meaningful glance and he picked it up, mouth watering at the selection. "Anything. I'm paying."

"If you say so." He said but didn't push. Free food, _food_ for the first time in a good few weeks.

Fries. Cheesy. Salted.

Burgers. Cheese and bacon.

Fish with fries.

Hotdogs with mustard and ketchup.

Breakfast frys with sodas and beans and sausages and everything else.

Jason felt like he was in heaven.

And there was milkshakes. Milkshakes. Strawberry. Chocolate. Banana. There was even an Oreo flavour.

Pure heaven.

A waitress appeared a few minutes later, giddly chewing gum as she smiled at them. "Wha' can I get ya two?"

"A strawberry milkshake and a cheeseburger." Nightwing hummed.

Jason got the feeling she hummed a lot or else this was just her way of lightening her voice. When she'd been talking to the Bat her voice had been different, softer and lighter. Jason wondered if she was afraid if she spoke normally he would recognise her from her voice alone. He wondered just who she was.

"You wan' fries with that, ma'am?"

"Sure."

The waitress, her nametag read Rosey if Jason's eyes were on his side, turned to him, an expectant grin on her face. "An' wha' can I get you, li'l mis'er?"

Jason blinked, a bit put off. "Um, a cheesburger with fries as well and... a chocolate milkshake."

"Righ'eo." Rosey smiled. She plucked Jason's menu straight from his hands and smiled at Nightwing as she handed her hers. "Dey'll be ou' in a few!"

Jason shifted awkwardly as Nightwing stared lifelessly at the black and white chequed floor. "So... What's your name?"

"Nightwing," She said, not looking up.

Jason huffed. "Your real name."

"Nightwing."

He laughed, "Fine then, be like that, that's fine."

Nightwing glanced up at him then, something much like amusement glittering in her alien like yellow eyes.

"You really want to know, huh?" She muttered, voice not as low as it had been before.

Jason's curiosity peaked as she slumped down and rested her chin in her palm.

"Rachel." She said, smiling. "My name is Rachel."

Rachel. Rachel what— Rachel no surname? "That it?" Jason asked, "Not giving up your mysterious surname, Ms Rachel?"

"That would give up too much." She grinned, sharp canines glinting in the overhead light. "Makes the game no fun."

A man, tall and broad shouldered walked up to them then and cleared his throat as his shadow fell over them. Jason's instincts flared but Rachel seemed perfectly calm at the man's arrival. She even grinned at him.

"Jason Todd this is B." She chimed as none other than Bruce Wayne sat down beside her as she slid over. "B this is Jason Todd. Kid who tried to steal your tyres."

Bruce Wayne smiled at him, nodding. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I hope my daughter has been treating you well?"

Jason gaped and nearly choked on his spit for a second. Nightwing and Batman. Partners. Bruce Wayne and Rachel _Wayne_. Father and daughter.

"She's been treating me alright." He said trying to cover up his gaping shock that was tearing a whole in him. Trust Batman and Nightwing to be two posh stuck up assholes. Though from what he'd seen that stereotype wasn't exactly true. Rachel was buying him food at least. "Nice to meet you too, Mr Wayne."

Wayne laughed, "Please, Jason. Just call me Bruce. Have you both ordered yet?"

"Bruce. Okay then. And yeah, we've ordered already." Jason said just as Rosey, the waitress from before, popped up carrying a tray with their milkshakes on it.

Bruce laughed as she slid the milkshakes to their respective owners. "Both milkshake people, hmm?"

"'ello 'here sir!" Rosey smiled at Bruce. "You wanna order some'hin?"

"If you don't mind?"

"'Course I don'! Any'hing you wan'?"

Bruce nodded up at her. "I'll just take some fries please, Rosey."

Rosey grinned, whether at the use of her name or the manners, Jason didn't know. "Ya wanna drink, sirre?"

"Hmm." Bruce pondered, humming a lot like Rachel did. Jason wasn't sure who got it off who just yet. "I'll take some lemonade, please."

Rosey grinned, jotting that down on her notebook with a flourish. "Ya'lls food'll be ou' in'a jiffy!"

When she was gone Bruce turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "I seen the good set-up you had out there. Where do you live?"

Jaaon originally preened at the compliment then bristled at the question. He didn't answer.

Bruce continued. "You have that distinct Dead End accent so I'm guessing you live around there. But then, if so, why are you here — in the lower end of the Narrows? How did you get past the collapsed bridge?"

"I don't needa tell y'all anythin'." Jason hissed and Bruce's face fell as he nodded. Rachel was watching him, leaning back against the seat, looking relaxed with her yellow eyes fluttering almost mechanically. Last time he'd seen her —which was on one of those tv's in a shop window— Jason's pretty sure her eyes weren't yellow. They were blue, if he remembered correctly.

"I didn' know your eyes were yellow." He said suddenly and even surprised himself with the amount of venom he hissed it with.

Bruce doesn't blink, instead leaning back to stare at Rachel, clearly unimpressed. Rachel herself laughed, sound lighter than anything Jason'd heard in a while.

"I was wondering how long it would take before you brought it up."

"Don't mind her," Bruce said. "That's one of her tests. She likes to time how long it takes people before they have the guts to mention it."

"How long did I last?" He asked.

"From the moment you seen them? 15 minutes."

"And...?" He asks, waiting for more. That can't be it.

Rachel shrugged, not really looking like she cared at this point. "Other people usually either just freak out immediately and run or don't mention them at all. You did pretty well, I suppose."

Jason grinned.

Then their food came and he lost the world to pure bliss.

**  
**

**  
**

Jason slumped back into the seat, groaning as he suddenly felt full for the first time since Catherine had died.

He opened his eyes, not even realising he'd closed them, to the sight of Rachel sipping contently at her strawberry milkshake and Bruce smiling at him. The emotion in his smile was almost _fatherly_ and that alone made Jason look away.

"So, Jason," Bruce began. "How would you like a room of your own? A home? Back with us, at Wayne Manor?"

Jason choked. "What?"

"A home." Rachel murmured. "It's fine if you don't want to but you can at least lurch off us if it comes down to it. Alfred's cooking is one hundred times better than this."

Jason blinked. "You— You're offering me the chance to stay with _y'all?"_

Bruce nodded, "That I am. Would you like to?"

"Yeah, sure." Jason spluttered. "Just... Why not social services or something or the other? I tried to steal your tyres! You should be arresting me for godsake! Not— not offering me a place to stay."

Rachel shrugged, "What can I say, we like you. You seem pretty tough. Of course, you don't have to come with, if you're scared but think about it being a missed oportunity if you do—"

He didn't even let her finish, rising to the bait of a challenge. "Deal. Thanks."

Bruce chuckled as he stood up to get the bill with Rachel realising half way and standing up to hurry over, already protesting that she'd said she would pay with Bruce protesting back he would've been the one paying anyway because it was his money.

Jason watched them bicker and supposed he could get behind the idea of a family. He could always run if he didn't like it anyway.

He'd give it a shot.

Why the hell not?


	2. Years Ago There Was a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I say this was a fluffy piece in contrast to my Deep Claws series? Yeah, I lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mishmash of old pieces I found hidden away in my archives that I figured made some sense when squished together. This story may just become a place for all my oneshots that never came to fruition. Thoughts on that?

Sound, thoughts, colours, emotions. All so difficult. All so far away from Bruce's grasp once his damned _'sister'_ left and he hit his fifteenth birthday.

Jason didn't like any of them. They made him feel inadequate, annoyed, _weak._

So what did he do in response?

He got angry.

Jason got angry in response to things he didn't like or understand, and that was normal because in the Narrows and Dead End, you got angry - used your rage and fought back - or you died - cold, broken and alone.

So, obviously, with naive hope coursing through his veins, hope of rescue, of a better life— obviously Jason chose to fight back.

And maybe he fought back a little too hard, a little too rough, maybe he gave other kids his age black eyes for walking up to him, what if he gave older, stronger men a run for their money and what if, what if he just couldn't let that ferocity go whenever Bruce brought him in?

_Brought him in_. What a farce. Bruce had caught him nicking his tyres -well, _Rachel_ had- and had in turn, gave him a mask and driven him to his early grave.

And Nightwing hadn't done anything. Oh, Nightwing. How he envied her. Hated her. (And yet he still looked up to her, even when she couldn't bare to look at him.)

Nightwing; Rachel Wayne. There was no difference. They were both as emotionless as the other, if Wayne _colder._

Rachel fucking Wayne. The woman who walked away and never came back.

The traitor.

She'd abandoned him, _them,_ and that hurt. Hurt because Jason had liked her, had been warming up to her, he hoped, and she'd suddenly left without a word.

Technically, he'd left without a word too.

Which brought him to his death.

It was simple, really. His mother betrayed him - _no, no please-_ Joker played them all - _which one hurts more?_ \- and in the end Jason was left staring at a countdown timer, broken, numb and flawed.

He died a failure. Woke up a monster.

Jason woke up in a box. Seven by two, six foot under. Panic had gripped him, twisted his stomach into knots because _no please help._ There's not enough oxygen to last; his hair swirls into his eyes and he can barely see past the ornate swirling wood in front of him. He'd been so numb - a very bad sign.

Numb all over.

His first thought had been to wonder just what the hell happened to bring him there but then he remembered - _crowbars-_ _him_ - _laughter-_ and stopped thinking about it before he choked on his own bile.

Not enough oxygen.

A normal coffin has enough to hold four to five hours worth. Jason reckons, with the coupl'a minutes he spent drifring, it's been around half an hour at the very most, ten minutes at the least.

That's not enough time.

But then, has there ever been?

He doesn't bother screaming because he knows how he's in a confined space and the particles will only vibrate to his ears, won't barely make it to land. If he's buried in the Wayne lands, he's far from civilisation anyway.

In the end, Jason doesn't remember how he got out. He doesn't remember a lot of things, like how he got to Saudi Arabia; how Talia found him; how he doesn't remember.

The things he does remember are easy. Talia sorta kinda saved him, Bruce abandoned him, he's neither dead nor alive, Bruce betrayed him, left him for dead, the Lazarus Pit brought him back and the League retaught him. Oh, and Joker has a death wish - a Joker who is very much _alive,_ his life very much _un-avenged._

Jason spends four years with the Shadows, training, killing, being angry, until one night he decides he's had enough and tells Talia. She urges him, her only favourite, to go and follow his path. He does.

Talia's gaze is a heavy weight on his back as he leaves, the kid scoffing his goodbyes.

Five years after he died, Jason set out for revenge.

For revenge against Bruce Wayne, but more importantly, _Batman_. Hell, a bullet in the Jokers skull wouldn't be too bad a consolation either.

The rage burns a hole in his gut when he finds out he's been replaced, he wonders if this is how his so called sister felt at his arrival but he doesn't really care because it's _him._ Jason's the one that's been replaced and now all that matters is killing the fucking, no good replacement.

Because no one replaces _Jason Peter fucking Todd._

It's a windy, cold spring night, when the storms are bad and lightning crashes in the distance, barely illuminating the shadow in the window against his frame as he readies his gun for a kill.

Jason doesn't flinch as he points the gun, cocked and loaded, at the figure. Doesn't flinch as he stares back at glowing yellow eyes, instead—

Instead, Jason shoots.

The thing, long, thin, boney, squaks like a traumatized bird and leaps. It's illuminated midjump by a flash of lightning and Jason barely has time to duck and roll back to avoid a sharpened katana. Two of them.

When he's on his feet there's no one there. Tension burns in his shoulders like a brick. Jason scowls at the smashed window, glad this safe house was not his current one (simply one for ammo refils and weapons) and turns, ready to head straight for the door.

The figure perched on his couch arm stops him dead in his tracks.

"Thought you were dead," a shockingly female voice hums, voice smooth like honey and thick like syrup. "Seems I was wrong."

"Yep," he snaps out, gun flying to jab at her temple. "Seems so. Who the fuck are you?"

"I could ask you the same but I will not," the woman says and isn't that completely _not_ suspicious? She doesn't seem fazed by the glock pressing against flesh.

Jason lets himself growl, the sound deep and low in his throat. The twitch of her hands, inching towards her back where her blades are, reassures him. If she's feeling threatened she'll either lash out or leave.

Jason needs a good fist fight, especially now his Robin hunting's been put off, but he's not picky. He can go for blade versus bullet any day.

The victor is assured.

"What the hell are you dressed up as?" Now that he really looks at her, smuggly rebalanced by the woman's hesitance, he can't help but raise an eyebrow at the womans ensemble.

She looks like she came straight out of a circus, circus-freak and all.

A domino covers her eyes, hers a dark obscuring blue where his is a cold and bloody red, while a long billowy cape-cloak thing is wrapped securely around her shoulders, dripping rainwater onto the ratty, old rug. Her general attire is pretty undiscernable, aside from the combat boots she wears that somehow seem to make her feet look dainty and the katanas strapped to her back, over the cloak. He doesn't stop to wonder when the katanas made it from the woman's hands back to their sheaths.

She hums. "I could ask you what you are dressed up as but I fear I already know."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" He growls, finger tightening on the trigger. There's no physical response this time round and that irks him.

"You're obviously going for the gothic punk route," she snarks and Jason's finger _slips._

The bullet embedds itself into the wall and sadly _not_ her head.

"You wanna try that again?" She smirks, nimbly bending her form back to within the rights of humane. "I could catch this one, if you'd like?"

"I'll ask again," he snarks. "You have five seconds to answer before we'll test that little theory; who the hell are you?"

"If you must," she hums. "I am Queen."

"Queen," he repeats, taking it for face value alone. "That wasn't so hard."

"I need not be patronised," she responded, unmoving.

"Well, then, I'm Red Hood. Nice meetin' ya. Bye."

To his own surprise, he found himself out the door before he knew it. He slammed the dingy thing shut and listened to the curdling sound of the woman's jittery laughter.

It's become a constant, for Jason to haul himself out of a too cold or too warm bed and walk into whatever living room his current safehouse had and find her, just sitting there, watching some movie marathon or reading some book by the dim light of a shitty lamp that barely works for him but works perfectly fine for her.

And if Jason, forbid, gets used to this occurring phenomenon, he doesn't say anything.


End file.
